


on the run

by sickficlurker (SemiRetiredAuthor)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crash Landing, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Loneliness, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28839696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiRetiredAuthor/pseuds/sickficlurker
Summary: It took everything Keith had just to land the lion on the nearest planet.“Land” probably wasn’t the right word to describe it. It was more like a crash really, mostly Keith begging the universe to let him make it out of this one alive while he ineffectively tried to control the lion without the power he desperately needed to level out the course.He woke up sore but overall okay, immediately letting his garrison training take over and springing into action.
Kudos: 7





	on the run

It took everything Keith had just to land the lion on the nearest planet.

“Land” probably wasn’t the right word to describe it. It was more like a crash really, mostly Keith begging the universe to let him make it out of this one alive while he ineffectively tried to control the lion without the power he desperately needed to level out the course.

He woke up sore but overall okay, immediately letting his garrison training take over and springing into action.

A wave of dizziness hit him as he pulled himself out of the seat, but he didn’t have time to focus on that. Combined with the slight nausea that worsened with his every movement, the symptoms told him it was most likely a concussion, but what was he going to do about that _here_? It could wait.

The comms were a bust. His lion didn’t even have enough power to run them. His helmet proved equally fruitless, though that was probably more a matter of lack of signal. Surely, his luck wasn’t so bad that the suit’s power had died too.

He’d just have to hike to a better location after dark, when it would be harder for any lingering Galra to spot him. For now, though, it was best to settle in and wait them out. Maybe he’d find something to improvise treatment for his possible concussion. Maybe some rest would be enough.

That was when he ran into another problem. His suit _did_ have power, but the readouts indicated he’d be having a very bad time if he removed his helmet on this planet. The air composition simply wasn’t fit for humans. He had enough oxygen to hold out, but he wouldn’t be able to safely remove his helmet to treat the head wound. At the very least, it would be a needlessly risky move.

He couldn’t feel it before, but with that knowledge, he could swear he felt the mess now, old, sticky blood clotting around the back of his head and soaking into the helmet and his hair, the spot aching all the while.

Really, his whole body ached. The screen readouts showed vargas until estimated sundown, and all he wanted to do was sleep them away. He knew he shouldn’t in his condition, but it was only a matter of time before the lack of distractions and concussion-induced sluggishness sent him there anyway.

When he woke next, it was well past nightfall, but that was no longer what he was focused on.

Despite the temperature readouts telling him it was the equivalent of a comfortable seventy degrees, he was freezing, enough to involuntarily shiver. Already uncomfortably sure of what he’d see, he flipped the readouts to his own vitals readings and found an undeniable fever raging through him.

And if that weren’t enough, the massive amount of sleep he’d gotten had barely made a bump in his energy levels; he was absolutely exhausted. He almost convinced himself the sleep made him _more_ tired, not to mention gave him an awful kink in his neck that stubbornly refused to be shaken out with his attempted neck and shoulder rolls. Between the exhaustion and the myriad of pains, if he was just a little less worried about his surroundings and situation, he could have easily fallen straight back to sleep.

At least the worry was on his side.

He peeled himself off the ground, ready to talk himself into making the trek outside anyway, maybe to try to repair his lion, maybe to try the comms on higher and clearer ground. He wasn’t sure which, and it didn’t matter anyway because his body was _not_ cooperating anymore. Every attempt to get his legs under him was thwarted by the dizziness, aches, or uncontrollable shudders in his body.

“Dammit!” he cried out in frustration.

He was out of ideas. A desperate last ditch check told him the comms hadn’t magically found a signal while he was out.

His body had shown him plenty to convince him he wouldn’t be moving anywhere he couldn’t drag himself for the time being. His only hope was that the team would find him. It was either that or wait out this illness and _then_ figure out the countless other issues.

He briefly wondered how long his oxygen would last, but he quickly shoved that thought away. Tempting as it was, letting his negative side take the reigns wasn’t going to help here. They’d come for him; he knew they would.

If he was in this for the long haul—and he was now sure he was—he could pull out the emergency blanket on the lion. It crinkled in his ears with the sterility only Mylar could bring, but it made a solid effort to shove his chills away. It wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t in a situation where he could entertain the idea of demanding perfection.

He took inventory of the few other rarely-used survival supplies he had on board then, but there really wasn’t much. A set of tools to make basic repairs to the lion, left in their place for now. A first aid kit he _still_ couldn’t use due to the danger of removing his helmet in this atmosphere. A few bottles of water that he immediately went for, looking for anything to soothe his inflamed throat. A couple rations of tinned food that somehow looked even less appetizing than the food goo back home on the castle ship; he set those to the side, putting off eating them until he really had to.

He couldn’t hold back a laugh when he reached the bottom of the storage space. Someone had left a stuffed animal in there of all things. If he had to guess, it was a well-meaning gift from Hunk or a failure of a prank from Lance, but either way, seeing the little red cat so out of place was amusing, at least in his fevered state. If nothing else, he could struggle to use it as a pillow if it came to that.

Then came the vargas passing by with nothing happening. His mood dropped soon enough. A stuffed cat didn’t compare to the knowledge that he was alone on a potentially hostile planet with no way to defend himself _on top_ of just plain feeling like shit.

Hopelessly, he wished he had something, anything to distract him from the minutes ticking by. He found himself jealous of Pidge with her lion stocked with entertainment; he’d joined the others in the light jabs at her when she’d moved in some technical projects of hers—when was she ever going to need projects to work on while in her lion?—but he was ready to take it all back now.

Mostly, he watched out the lion’s few windows. There wasn’t much to see aside from some alien foliage, but he kept convincing himself if he just kept sweeping the area, he’d see something interesting. He caught himself almost dozing more than a few times, but he managed to tear himself out of it before it was too late.

When his helmet showed it was the equivalent of three in the morning and there was still no sign of a rescue, he caved into his body’s need for a full night of sleep. The concussion honestly scared him a little, but he’d chased that thought around his head for hours; if there was something he could do, he would have thought of it by now. He couldn’t just stay up until the other paladins showed. That could take _days_ — _quintants_ he corrected himself.

It took a solid minute to shake off the confusion again the next morning. He inwardly scoffed at that once the situation came back to him. It was definitely the early afternoon already. It didn’t matter anyway, he supposed. To put it simply, he still felt like absolute shit. He wouldn’t be making any progress today either. He could hold hope for recovering by nightfall, but his more sensible side knew that hope was unwarranted.

It was a good thing he’d stayed alone so long in the desert, he mused. Otherwise, this loneliness would probably be killing him. Much as he didn’t want to be here, he was glad it was him and not another paladin who couldn’t handle it. He smirked at that thought.

Now would be a good time to do some shining up on his lion, but _of course_ he couldn’t stand moving around too much. He tried to commit to the idea anyway—he really did—but he ended up with a few super clean spots and little motivation to haul himself up and over to the rest of the panels. Screw it. The lion wouldn’t care about being a little grimy.

At least he’d eaten through some otherwise wasted time, he tried to tell himself. Except when he checked the time again, only about a varga had passed. How long had he been here now? A full quintant? One and a half?

His mouth was so dry. Water sounded like the greatest luxury in the world, but naturally, he had none left. The sore throat had managed to trick him into guzzling through it all early on, thinking he’d be rescued and desperate to quell the ache there. Which was worse, though? The dehydration? Or the truly sickening measures he’d resorted to for a bathroom when he’d still been drinking water?

Christ. He was down to debating things like _that_. What could he say? He was bored with nothing else to hold his attention.

He popped open one of the food tins, more out of a desire to have something to occupy him than any legitimate sense of hunger. It had been awhile, though. He supposed he should eat something even if he didn’t feel like it.

As much as he dragged it out, breakfast or lunch or whatever he wanted to call it didn’t take very long, and he was soon back to the nothingness.

Was another nap the best idea with his concussion? No. Would it let him escape reality a little longer? Yes, and that was why he was doing it anyway.

Pounding on his lion’s door jerked him out of sleep. _That_ was enough to touch the exhaustion, shoving it back with a burst of adrenaline.

He made a move for his dash to check the live video footage of the outside before re-realizing he had no power. _Well, shit._

Would it hold out if whoever it was started putting their full effort into knocking down the door?

“Mullet!” a voice shouted from outside, joined by others soon after.

“Are you okay?”

“Let us in!”

Relief flooded his body. Much as he usually hated the grate of Lance’s voice, he’d never been so happy to hear it.

He fought through the aches to make his way over to the backup manual mechanism for opening the lion, but that was all his body could handle. He only managed to lower the ramp a few feet before the pain took over and sent him sprawling to the ground once more.

“Keith!” he heard again, in a different, more worried voice.

“…here,” he called out weakly before trying again despite the grate against his throat. “I’m here!”

Consciousness came and went in no discernible pattern. One second, he was alone in the ship, and the next there was Pidge—or at least someone in green paladin armor, he supposed. He couldn’t really get a good look at them to be one hundred percent sure on that front.

Seemingly another blink of his eyes later, Hunk and Lance were in the fray too.

One more period of nothingness, and then he was being carried, clutched tightly against Shiro’s chest.

He didn’t know how they would fix everything, but he knew he was safe now.


End file.
